


Valentine's Day (A Time to Reap, A Time to Sow)

by flecksofpoppy



Series: A Time to Reap, A Time to Sow [5]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Chivalry, Grell gonna reap your ass, Grell knows how to work a corset, M/M, Mr. and Mrs. Harris, omg, the original OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:31:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell has a ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valentine's Day (A Time to Reap, A Time to Sow)

"Will," Grell moans. He frowning and leaning against the door frame of Will's office. "I have quite the dilemma, I'm afraid, and am in dire need of advice."

Will doesn't answer; a bird is chirping outside, and instead of answering, he rises to shut the window firmly and re-take his seat.

Grell just stares at him and then rolls his eyes.

" _Really,_ William," he says, crossing the office to re-open the window.

"Don't," Will warns, adjusting his glasses and not even sparing Grell a glance as he looks over his forms.

"But it's _spring_ ," Grell exclaims, his arms held out in exuberant exasperation. "It's the season of love! Of blue birds and robins and... today is Valentine's Day!"

Will doesn't respond.

Grell sighs and goes back to lean against the door frame, arms crossed and looking at Will with a pout.

"Sutcliff," Will finally says, raising his eyes, "it's spring on Earth and only in London. And should humankind find themselves in amorous situations, I attribute it to their insatiable desire for copulation and instantaneous pleasure, rather than any change in season or temperature."

Will claps shut the ledger he's been studying in a final manner and puts it to the side.

"William," Grell says flatly, "how _ever_ do you survive being such a romantic?"

"I soldier on," Will says, and finally looks up at Grell. "What is it that you want? I do believe you're at least five minutes past your authorized lunch break."

"Oh, official business of course," Grell replies, smiling sweetly and fluttering his eyelashes.

Will is not amused.

"I need _advice_ ," he moans again, inching toward his favorite chair. When Will doesn't immediately reprimand him, he drapes himself over it luxuriantly and settles there.

"There's a rather fetching gentleman," he says, flinging his hands over the side and huffing, "and I..."

Will looks at him, waiting for him to finish.

"And?" he says despite himself, and immediately Grell perks up.

Damn it.

" _And,_ " he sings, "I simply can't decide what to wear to impress such a refined gentleman."

"Sutcliff, if you're referring to me--"

"Oh, my dear William, are you jealous? I'm sorry, my love, it's not you."

Will can't help but snap his mouth shut and feel his face heat awkwardly. 

"Out, Sutcliff," he says, standing this time. "I have actual work to do."

"Oh, Will," Grell says, smiling a bit. "You're so--"

"Out."

"Very well, you brute," Grell says, pursing his lips, and then blowing Will a kiss before sashaying out and closing Will's door behind him.

Will sits back down; he can still hear the damn bird chirping so cheerfully through the window. He wonders if it escaped the human world and somehow wandered here, solely to irritate him.

He fights the urge to sigh, straightens himself, fixes his tie, adjusts his glasses, and gets back to work.

*****

When the end of the day _finally_ arrives, Will is relieved as he heads to General Affairs to sign off on all equipment checked out for the evening.

One of the General Affairs girls has left her position at the desk to chatter with a co-worker, a rather large bouquet of roses in her arms.

When she sees Will, she immediately returns and blushes.

"Oh," she says, giggling a bit, "Senior Spears, I apologize for my unseemly behavior. It's just that—"

"Yes, yes," Will says, adjusting his glasses. It's late in the evening and he's _very_ ready to leave. "I'm simply here to review that all paperwork for equipment is properly filed, and then you may be on your way."

"Oh, yes," she says, twirling a rose, “everything is accounted for." She hands Will the completed inventory form for his review and signature. "And Senior Spears," she smiles kindly, "here’s one for you, too."

She hands Will a rose, and before he can refuse, the clock strikes six and she's turned away, headed for more amorous adventures.

In fact, most of the staff are gone. It's Valentine's Day (why _every_ being on _every_ plane enjoys human holidays, Will has never understood) and even more birds seem to be chirping than before.

Will is sure at this point that someone is releasing them in hoards; it's as if a plague of songbirds have descended upon the Reaper plane.

He blinks a few times; it's time to go home. It is already six, after all.

He tucks the rose into the inside pocket of his jacket; for some reason, he doesn't want to leave it. It just seems... _rude_... given that although the sentiment was silly in the first place, it was genuine.

He looks at the form, and amidst the smell of roses, he sees that the only three scythes still checked out are two regulation, and one chainsaw.

Grell. What in the world is Grell doing accepting assignments on his (Will assumes) favorite day of the year?

He looks at the address; it's in London, the time of death isn't for a few hours, and Grell is nowhere to be found.

Well, then. It might be prudent to prevent catastrophe by intercepting any mischief Grell might be up to, and in the process, escaping the torturous, melodic cacophony of songbirds. Will has begun to suspect that perhaps there's less of them in the living world at this point.

Yes, may as well venture there; it makes the most sense.

Or so he tells himself, repeatedly, as he betrays his intention to go home.

****

Will is standing with his head down at a corner, looking at a newspaper to appear less suspicious. He manages to blend quite well, though he does keep safely out of Grell's line of vision.

Undoubtedly, Grell is currently on the outing that he had asked for advice about, as Will watches him stumble out the door of a rather stately residence into the street. He's with a young man in fine clothes, wearing an elaborate cravat with a very trim waistcoat, exaggerated breaches and an attractive, young face—also rather drunk, all things considered, though.

Grell himself is wearing a very fine celadon gown made of tulle, the waist tapering into a perfect point and elongating his waist. His hair is curled around his face with an elegant knot at the back of his head, and giggling, they disappear together around the corner.

Will waits, not wanting to follow, but curious enough to remain where he is. A few minutes pass, but nothing else happens. A few other guests—more respectable members of high society in the living world—exit and depart in handsome carriages. There’s no other sign of Grell, though.

Finally, Will takes a few resentful steps forward, calling himself ten kinds of fool, when he hears an unexpected sound. It’s talking, coming from the alley, but no one has emerged.

Taking a surreptitious glance around, and seeing no one, Will steps foot into the alley quietly. He doesn’t want to alert Grell to his presence, but he listens intently.

They are indeed around the corner, and Will’s eyebrows raise as he hears Grell's rather drunk companion say, "You're quite beautiful. More beautiful than that dress. Do remove it, since obviously that’s what you came out here for."

"Oh, my darling," comes Grell's voice, light and airy. "We've had such a lovely evening. Must you really taint it with such uncouth requests?"

"Don't insult me."

As Will has already read, the man's cause of death is a heart attack, attributable to the beginnings of cirrhosis and generally bad health since childhood.

Will looks at his watch; one minute to go.

"But please do me the favor of kissing my hand good night."

There's a rustle and the sound of someone—

"Did you just spit on me, my darling boy? Rather bad manners, I must say. You've no idea how to treat a lady, for a proper gentleman's behavior is consistent both in public and in private."

There's a choked sound of surprise; the process has started.

"Although," and Grell's voice is low and terrifying now, "I'm not so much a lady as a femme fatale. A black widow spider looking for a mate who will inevitably pass away into sweet, blissful death!"

Will knows Grell is dramatically waving his arms in his monologue as the clueless, dying man heaves breath and panics, trying to figure out what's happening.

"And now," and Will hears the chainsaw rev up, "please do have the sweetest dreams."

There's a brief, horrified scream cut short by a scythe and a heart attack, and then the cinematic record scurries up into the sky in a blinding whirl. It twists with the snake-like movements of an angry soul, and Grell effortlessly gathers it up and sends it on its way.

Will has to admit that Grell is still flawless with practical technique, even after all these years.

However, to his surprise, Grell doesn't round the corner immediately. Instead, Will hears a sigh, and then the distinct sound of a dress rustling along the building as Grell leans there.

"Oh, dear," he says softly to himself, "such a brief evening this year."

Finally he does stand, sends his scythe back into their dimension, and Will just stays where he is.

It's very difficult to surprise Grell Sutcliff; it requires a combination of Grell being distracted and the perpetrator being someone that has known him a very long time.

"William?" he says in surprise, blinking, as he rounds the corner. A look of realization comes over his face, and he careens toward Will.

Will takes a step to the side to let Grell rocket past him and stumble, but he turns, smiling.

"Oh, Will," he says, wagging his gloved finger daintily, "did you miss me? Were you coming to present me with flowers and chocolates and lace paper devotions?"

"No," Will says bluntly, and shifts his stance uncomfortably. "Your scythe was checked out of General Affairs, and of course, I assumed the worst." 

He doesn't add anything else, because even he's not sure why he took it upon himself to follow Grell here.

"Do you like it?" Grell asks, twirling in a circle, his coiffed curls flying around him and the fine light-hued silk dress billowing out. "I was so very disappointed when you wouldn't award me the privilege of a man of _distinction's_ advice, darling."

"It's rather..." Will starts, and Grell stops to wait eagerly while gingerly feeling that his hair is still intact, “...large."

" _Large?_ " Grell cries, crossing his arms and looking at Will disdainfully.

"How do you find yourself capable to maneuver in that?"

"With _style_ and grace, my dear, William," Grell retorts dismissively, sniffing the air and uncrossing his arms dramatically.

Finally, Will gives up on restraint and gives into curiosity. He’s tired of prowling around, trying to figure out what Grell’s up to.

“What exactly are you doing here?” Will finally asks, looking Grell straight in the eye.

Grell offers a small, charming smile and tips his head to the side, fluttering his eyelashes.

“I was in need of a companion for this fine holiday,” he says. “There are some days in the year, William, that I do enjoy the living world, regardless of how filthy it is. Valentine’s Day is one such day—the occasion of _love_ ,” Grell practically trills.

“And you accompanied this...” Will clears his throat, looking for an accurate descriptor for the rather distasteful gentleman Grell had just reaped. “person to a social engagement for that purpose?”

“Well,” Grell replies, laughing lightly, “of course, none of those gossips will ever see me again, which is rather the point.”

Will frowns bemusedly, waiting for an explanation. Grell heaves a sigh, as if Will is a completely idiot, and straightens the neckline of his elaborate dress.

"Have you any notion of how difficult it is to find a young, fashionable, attractive man worthy of escorting a lady of my elegance and beauty on this date who is also fated to die? Why, once I had to travel to Italy, Will. Have you ever been to Italy? I suggest you not go, although you're the bookish type, so you might just enjoy their terribly--"

" _Sutcliff_ ," Will says, cutting Grell off and pinching the bridge of his nose, "you do this every year?"

Grell snaps his mouth shut and actually looks at the ground.

"Well, yes," he says.

Will just looks at him.

"Why?" he finally asks point blank. Normally, Will would refrain from even indulging Grell, but this is just too strange for even him to ignore.

"We all need a bit of a masquerade now and then, Will," Grell says in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "It's nice, really," he says, "to simply be looked at and admired, appreciated."

"You're looked at all the time, Grell," Will replies, offering up a confused expression. "In fact, you're ogled daily."

"Anonymity is quite a remarkable thing," Grell says, dropping his eyes again and raising a had to primp his curls. "To know nothing about a person except what you see, and then to pass away without a trace."

"Sutcliff..." Will says, though now he understands. "Stop that."

Grell looks up in surprise and gives him a genuinely bewildered look. "What are you talking about?"

"You look unhappy," Will blurts out. "You look positively miserable, in fact. It's strange. Stop."

Grell laughs a bit. "William," he says, shaking his head, "what a silly human word for you to use."

"Are you unhappy?" Will asks after a moment, studying Grell's expression.

It's a question that, asked under other circumstances or by anyone else, would be probing, goal-seeking, and intimate. But because it's Will asking, all he wants is an honest answer of yes or no.

"Yes," Grell admits, with a subtle shrug of his shoulders, "the time of death was slated to occur quite early this year, leaving so little time for dancing. And although he was a rather terrible kind of man, he had his charms."

"He was a cruel drunk," Will says, adjusting his glasses.

"Well, Will," Grell says with a self-deprecating smile, "beggars can't be choosers, now can they, darling?"

Grell Sutcliff is rarely unhappy. In fact, Will realizes now that he's never actually seen Grell unhappy; it may be the one emotion that he has never seen (excluding remorse, which doesn't count because Grell inherently lacks that particular sentiment).

It makes him uncomfortable in ways he can't quite define.

"Sutcliff, take my arm," Will says suddenly.

"What?" Grell replies plainly, his eyes wide.

"Take my arm, I said," Will says, and his face is already heating. "It's improper for us to be seen in any other way."

Normally, Grell would be scrambling to cling onto Will, jabbering relentlessly about love and songbirds and destiny.

Now, he just stares, but then after a moment, moves forward tentatively to link his arm with Will's.

"Did you manage to assemble that ensemble yourself?" Will asks, eyeing Grell's hair and dress as they discretely return to the street.

"Of course not, darling," Grell says, laughing softly, coquettish again. "The lovely dears in General Affairs were happy to assist, though I'm afraid they all had plans tonight."

Well. If he's come this far, he might as well keep going into the abyss.

"I believe you would have more use for this than me," Will says, clearing his throat awkwardly, and takes out the rose. "It was given to me by one of your female colleagues and I really have no other purpose for it."

Grell slows and almost stops, looking at the rose, back at Will, and then back at the rose.

"It's lovely, Will," he says after a moment.

They don't say anything else, and Grell just holds onto the rose. It's rather wilted, nothing compared to the ostentatious dozen on his desk, but to Will's surprise, there's neither further praise nor criticism.

Grell simply holds it in his free hand and keeps walking.

"I'm afraid I can't return to the ball," Grell says after a moment. "People will begin to wonder where their rather distasteful companion has gone."

"We're not going there," Will says, "as dancing is an activity in which I would rather not engage."

"Where are we going then?" Grell says, his voice plainly curious.

When Will doesn't answer, Grell doesn't pursue the inquiry.

They walk through London, avoiding puddles, Grell lifting his dress daintily to step around them.

"You look very nice," Will says suddenly, shifting his eyes over to Grell. "Your dress is rather voluminous and impractical, but the color rather... suits."

Grell smiles a bit. "Will," he says, "I never knew you to flatter a lady so."

"I don't flatter," Will says frankly.

"Yes," Grell says, and his arm tightens on Will's, "I am aware."

"I'm glad it pleases you, Sutcliff," Will mumbles, frowning slightly and adjusting his glasses. "It's very unsettling to see you unhappy. It's rather uncanny, in fact."

Before Grell can respond, Will stops in mid-stride. He lets go of Grell's arm and turns toward a humble though elegant residence in front of them.

"Friends in the city?" Grell says, laughing lightly. Will ignores him, and the amusement fades as Will goes and knocks on the door.

A maid opens it. "Yes?" she asks.

"Please do tell Mr. and Mrs. Harris that Mr. Spears and his companion are here to call," Will says. He reaches out his arm to Grell again, who takes a few tentative steps forward with a bewildered look on his face.

The maid opens the door fully and allows them into the foyer, shutting it soundly behind her.

"One moment, sir," she says, "I'll alert the master to your presence."

Will holds out his card which she takes, curtseying primly, and leaves Grell and Will standing at the door.

"William," Grell hisses, "what in the _world_ are you--"

"Spears! Is it really you?! What a pleasure!"

An older gentleman appears before them and walks forward to clap Will on the back heartily and shake his hand.

"You're in town, my good boy! What a happy coincidence that we are as well."

"I apologize for the late hour," Will says, shaking Mr. Harris's hand firmly.

"Not at all! It's quite a favorable evening to venture out calling," he says, smiling. "This weather is quite remarkable. Not a chill to be had tonight."

"Mr. Harris," Will says, turning to introduce Grell, "this is Miss--"

"Spears, of course!" Mr. Harris exclaims. "Your sister! Your eyes are identical. A pleasure to meet you, my dear."

He takes Grell's hand delicately and kisses the back of it.

"A pleasure, Mr. Harris," Grell says, executing a grand curtsey, "but I'm afraid--"

"That we can't stay for long," Will says, cutting him off. "However, I was in the vicinity, and I thought it quite a regretful decision to not say hello."

"Of course, of course. Please do come in," Mr. Harris says, gesturing with his hand and walking into the house.

It's small but comfortable, with tasteful furniture, if not a bit dated.

Mrs. Harris, a rather matronly although kind-faced woman, is sitting nearby a fire with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

"Mr. Spears," she greets, smiling. Will bows slightly and kisses the back of her hand as she offers it up. "What a pleasure to see you again."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Harris," he replies. "Thank you for allowing us to call."

"And who is this exquisite creature?" she asks, looking at Grell.

"His sister!" Mr. Harris says. "Just look at the similarity in the eyes."

"Actually," Grell offers, giving a charming subtle smile, "we're cousins."

"How remarkable! Well, you know, all that talk of genetics and science and what-have-you," Mr. Harris remarks.

"Please, do sit down dear," Mrs. Harris offers. Grell smiles charmingly and moves to sit primly on a chair nearby to Mrs. Harris.

Mr. Harris and Will both sit down once Grell is seated; the fire crackles agreeably, and Will feels at ease for the first time that evening.

"Mr. Spears," Mrs. Harris says after a moment, "are you still fond of shepherd's pie?"

Will fights the blush as soon as he feels it, particularly when Grell looks right at him with a surprised and then amused expression.

"Why, yes I am," he manages to say.

"You must stop by for dinner some time again!" she says, smiling. "We have so missed your presence at our table."

Now the amusement has faded, and Grell just looks surprised.

"I'm rarely in town, unfortunately," he adjusts his glasses and doesn't look at Grell. "However, the moment I am, I shall be happy to accept your generous offer."

Mr. Harris motions for the maid to serve drinks. Grell and Mrs. Harris have cherry liqueur; Will and Mr. Harris have brandy.

"So, Spears," Mr. Harris says, crossing his legs and fixing his gaze on Will, "how is your career progressing in Birmingham ever since that transfer? I've never seen someone move through the ranks so quickly! Quite remarkable, really."

Will takes a sip of his drink and nods. "Yes," he says, "I've been quite fortunate. Birmingham isn't a city of as worldly fare as London, I must say. But it's quite well."

"Good, good," Mr. Harris says. Then adds with a devious expression, "You know, Spears here arrived to us by chance in the Financial Affairs Bureau. I tell you, nothing has been the same since. He laughs, patting Will firmly on the shoulder. "Spears, my boy, I believe you'll be keeping the ledger of souls for Saint Peter when you roll up to those pearly gates."

A distinct choking erupts from the ladies' side of the room, and there is some commotion until it is clear the Grell is not choking to death on liqueur.

The evening wears on, and Will finds himself enjoying speaking with Mr. Harris all over again.

Harris had been his supervisor during his living world coursework, and he came to respect the man. He was a diligent, dogged worker; precise, professional, and reasonable.

It had ended up with shepherd's pie and the kindness of Mrs. Harris fussing over Will's "deplorable bachelor status as such a handsome, established young man."

He hasn't seen them since his "transfer" to Birmingham.

Grell is enjoying himself; Mrs. Harris is at the piano, playing some song that Grell unsurprisingly already knows, and Will is amused to discover that Grell has the most horrible singing voice he's ever heard.

Mr. Harris agrees, watching politely as his eye twitches with each high note Grell (tries) to hit.

When he's finished, everyone claps lightly and praises his remarkable music ability.

"A proper lady," Mr. Harris says as Will and Grell get ready to take their leave, "is rare to meet in these modern times. It's been a pleasure, Miss Spears."

"Thank you," Grell says, curtseying dramatically as Mr. Harris kisses the back of his hand, "for your wonderful hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. Harris."

"Please do return soon," Mrs. Harris says from the doorway to the drawing room. "I have a wonderful recipe for shepherd's pie, Miss Spears."

Grell is already laughing as the door shuts behind them.

"Friends in the city indeed," he says. "What a lovely couple. So unassuming and courteous, and what a fine eye to recognize such beauty as mine!"

"Come, Sutcliff," Will says. "Let us depart."

"Oh, must we Will?" Grell asks softly. "I'm having a wonderful time."

"It heartens me to hear that my efforts have not been in vain, then," Will says brusquely. "Come."

"Escort me home," Grell says, holding his arm out. 

Unlike the pomp and circumstance of the living world, their own plane is far more lax about social interactions. The prime concern is maintaining order, which is what Will is entrusted with every day.

Nevertheless, Will honors Grell’s request and takes his arm. It’s only a few scant moments for them to return to their own plane. Seeing no harm in it, Will humors Grell and goes so far as to escort him to the door of his flat.

"Would you be so kind as to assist with undressing me?" Grell asks, turning as he opens the door.

"Honestly, Sutcliff," Will says, adjusting his glasses.

"Truly, Will," Grell says, looking over his shoulder. "I had assistance in the first place, and although a lady of my genteel disposition is quite capable of handling her own ensemble..."

"Very well," Will sighs.

He follows Grell into the flat; it's a rather smaller space than he pictured Grell living in.

Reaper lodgings can be quite beautiful in their simplicity; the entire plane is perfectly formed, libraries and white steps, every path leading somewhere specific.

Grell's flat is not practical, nor is it simple. Everything is covered in red: brocade, silk, velvet, fabrics draped over the few furnishings. Of course, demotions do not earn luxury.

Grell turns to him and motions to the back of his dress.

"Please," he says, and turns around, "unbutton me."

Will is careful, as he smoothes his hands over the edge of the dress and gingerly undoes the first button, then the next.

Grell flexes his shoulders and stretches his neck underneath the red curled hair, the elaborate knot on top of his head adorned with a few pearl combs with tiny bird forms incised on them. 

Will finds his eyes wandering down the twist of Grell's hair to his neck and shoulders as he slides the dress down.

Grell pulls his arms out of the sleeves, and Will helps him out of the dress until the next layer of the corset and chemise is visible.

"Honestly, Sutcliff," Will says softly as Grell turns around and takes the dress from Will's waiting arms. "How long did it take you to prepare for this evening?"

"Oh, Will," Grell says, a small, coy smile on his face, "the secrets of a lady's chambers and dressing habits are just that."

"Is that not... uncomfortable?" Will asks, staring at the dramatically indented corset Grell is still wearing.

"It's divine, darling," Grell corrects. "To have oneself tucked into silk and lace and _ribbons!_ "

Will just clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. "How impractical," he murmurs, but Grell just tsks at him.

"Do you not find it fetching?" he asks, fluttering his eye lashes invitingly, and unexpectedly reaches out to take Will's hands and settle them lightly at his waist. "The curve of the female figure, Will?" 

Will swallows hard and reclaims his hands.

Grell has already turned away, carrying the dress, and opened the door to the bedroom.

"I'll only be a moment, darling," he says, and shuts it behind him.

Will stands there, staring at the door, still feeling the hard corset under his fingers, hearing Grell's words in his head.

Minutes pass, and nothing happens.

Will debates leaving or staying, waiting or giving into impatience. But there's something about Grell this evening that's making him feel a bit more indulgent than he normally would be, something rather...fragile.

Thinking of Grell Sutcliff as fragile is potentially the most preposterous notion he can conjure up; Will is aware of this, but somehow, he can't dismiss it.

He walks over to the bedroom door and knocks lightly.

"Sutcliff?" he says. When there's no answer, he pushes the door open a few inches.

Grell is sitting at a vanity with a mirror in front of it, looking at himself. He's let part of his hair down, a few clips laid on the surface, and it hangs down his back in a straight line of vivid red. There's a crystal vase of decaying roses next to the mirror, and Grell looks up to meet Will's eyes in the mirror.

"What ever are you doing?" Will asks, pushing the door open fully and taking a few tentative steps into the room.

The dress is laid out on the bed, undoubtedly destined to become wrinkled. Will frowns.

When Grell doesn't answer, Will walks over to the bed and takes the dress into his arms.

"Where does this go?" he asks after a few moments, and Grell's eyebrows raise. "In here?" he asks, walking over to Grell's armoire.

"Yes," Grell says, watching Will intently. 

Will walks over to the large armoire and opens to the doors; he finds an empty hangar and hangs up the dress carefully.

He turns and takes a few steps, hesitates, but then keeps walking until he standing behind Grell.

"How terrible," Grell says softly, looking down at the combs on the vanity, "and improper. A man intruding upon a lady's bed chambers."

"I suppose," Will says, and then reaches down to unclasp the necklace Grell's wearing. Grell starts, and then regains his composure quickly as he takes the delicate necklace from Will.

"Where is your rose?" Will asks.

"Over there," Grell says softly, pointing to the bed where he's laid that as well.

Will retrieves the wilted rose and adds it to the crystal vase on the vanity.

"Would you... like help with anything else?"

"No," Grell says, looking down at his lap. "I..."

"It's a silly human holiday," Will says suddenly, and frowns at Grell in the mirror.

Grell immediately laughs softly.

"For a human man to behave in such a manner. While you're in..." Will gestures vaguely at Grell, "this state, and to..."

"Yes, rather unpleasant, that," Grell agrees. "William," he says coyly after a moment, "are you attempting to say you find me beautiful?"

"Certainly not," Will says gruffly, taking a few steps back. "I am simply stating that on a fundamentally aesthetic level, you would appear to be what a human man would desire."

Grell just looks at Will for a moment and then stands.

He unties the knot of the corset and then turns around. "Please," he says, "assist me."

Will just nods and unlaces the corset; before he can pull it off, Grell catches the shell of it and holds it against his body in some strange, unprecedented display of modest.

"I'll only be a minute, darling," he says, but his voice is soft.

He moves behind a folding screen in the corner of the room; Will sees the corset slung over the top followed by the chemise and petticoat.

"Will," he sings out, "do fetch my dressing gown. The red silk one, hanging over that chair."

Will resents being given orders, but he does as asked and hands Grell the red dressing gown. He can hear the whisper of silk as Grell slips it on, ties the sash, and then reemerges.

"Would you like a night cap, William?" Grell asks. "I'm afraid all I have is champagne."

"Very well," he says. He notes the surprised look on Grell's face.

Grell pours two glasses and hands one to Will before turning the chair around to face him, seating himself at the vanity again. He crosses his legs, and the edge of the silk robe falls away, exposing one long, smooth leg up to the thigh.

He smiles slightly when he sees Will's eyes immediately stray there, and Will turns away abruptly and takes a sip of his champagne. They don't speak for a moment.

"I would have assumed you preferred finer cuisine than shepherd's pie," Grell finally says.

Will snorts and takes another sip from the delicate glass.

"I have no regard for your opinion on cuisine, Grell," Will says. "And Mrs. Harris is quite a skilled cook."

"Miss Spears shall have to collect that recipe," Grell replies dryly, laughing a bit, but there's something humorless there. Will doesn't know what to make of it, so he doesn't comment.

In the ensuing silence, Grell picks up a hair pin and idly worries it between his fingers. Will watches the light shine off the small jeweled birds carved into it.

Grell pulls the dressing gown back over his exposed leg primly and uncrosses them, drawing them together. When he accidentally drops the clip on the floor, Will kneels to retrieve it.

He feels Grell's fingers tangle in his hair before he can find the comb, and it ends up forgotten as he rises to his knees and pushes the dressing gown open far enough that he can kiss from Grell's knee up to his thigh.

" _Will_..." Grell sighs, extending his leg as Will kisses at the sensitive skin.

When Will slides his hand up the back of Grell’s thigh, under the silk, however, Grell unexpectedly pushes him away. He wraps the robe back around his body, almost self-consciously, and looks away as Will immediately gets to his feet.

"It's been a lovely evening," he says through heavy breath. "And..."

"I see," Will says, looking at the ground with a mortified expression as he takes a few steps back.

"Oh, silly dear," Grell says softly as he gathers his wits, standing up to get close to Will. When Will steps back again, Grell just follows him. "It's not that."

"What, then?" Will asks, still not looking at Grell.

"I do adore my arm in yours," Grell says after a moment. "The only proper way to be seen, as you say."

Will just looks at him for a moment, and then something like understanding flashes across his face. 

"What would a proper lady desire?" Will asks.

Grell takes a sharp breath in, but replies, "To have her hand taken, and kissed, and bid good night with a promise of a visit the next day."

"I see," Will replies, and takes Grell's hand. "I had an enjoyable evening, Sutcliff. And... should you find yourself available next year, I should be quite pleased to accompany you wherever you wish to go." He raises his eyes slightly and adds quietly, "Assuming it does not require a scythe."

Grell laughs softly, and there's something raw in his voice.

"Besides," Will adds, "I'll fall into terrible disrepute if I never visit the Harris household again, and I am not fond of being disreputable to my more familiar acquaintances, whether in the living world or our own."

"Will," Grell says softly, and reaches out to straighten Will's tie. Will catches his hand without speaking and holds onto it for a moment.

"Flowers are absurd tokens of devotion," he says.

"Yes," Grell breathes.

Will leans forward to kiss him chastely on the mouth and draws back, waiting, until he takes a few tentative steps forward to embrace Grell. 

"You saucy man," Grell says softly, but he leans forward to kiss Will's shoulder through the jacket and shirt he's wearing.

"Those corsets are torture devices," Will says resolutely.

"They're divine," Grell replies, shaking his head. "You'll never understand feminine wiles, will you, William T. Spears?"

"Perhaps not," Will says, curling his fingers around Grell's waist before drawing away.

"I bid you goodnight, Grell," he says softly.

"Goodnight, William," Grell replies, reaching out for Will's hand.

Will catches Grell's hand again and kisses the back of it; he pulls him forward so that they're pressed against each other again, and runs his fingers gently through the loose hair.

Grell just moans low in his throat as their hips push against each other, but they both tear themselves away.

Will turns and leaves, shuts the door behind him.

Grell Sutcliff... what is Grell Sutcliff? Will finds that he doesn't know as makes his own way home.

He goes to bed and closes his eyes, strokes himself and thinks of red silk until he comes into his own hand, moaning a particular name.

The following year, the Harrises are delighted.


End file.
